


curl in tight

by taonsils (mirokkuma)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Autistic Character, M/M, Neurodiversity, Non-Linear Narrative, Sensory Overload, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 01:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20462810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirokkuma/pseuds/taonsils
Summary: Nothing too much, nothing too fast, Kyungsoo warned him. Nothing scary.





	curl in tight

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends I’m nervous as heck about this one and would appreciate you read this standard disclaimer that all neurodiverse lives and experiences are individual ! for a long while I’ve wanted to create something about the complications of wanting someone and being wanted while having all this stuff to navigate, not adapting. stylistically this was a big experiment for me and was one of those drafts I had sitting around for months then suddenly poured into over a week. (thank you!! shawn and aeryn for the handholding and encouragement over that week A+ friending). actually autistic(tm) author hopes you will find something interesting or enjoyable about this, it’s from the nd perspective.
> 
> (also ksoo is chonky. didn’t tag but pls visualise☆)

The mirrored inside of the elevator reflects the lights from the lobby. Chanyeol only takes one glance, to check his tie. He holds the door with the side of his foot and a shoulder, blinking away light spots. There are three parties here for the conference and they’re all checking in at 3, gathered in the lobby and chatting far too loudly for Chanyeol to hang around. He flattens against the wall and smiles complacently down at the floor. With his shoulders flexed back it makes a little more space in the rapidly filling box.

Chanyeol will most likely know his roommate. His firm have partnered with these companies since he was just an intern. He prefers when they get single rooms, but hey, free trips to Japan were an incentive when he joined.

No one acknowledges Chanyeol keeping his thumb pressed to the button each time the doors open, but when he reaches his floor and excuses himself through the crush of black suits the man who takes his place gives him a friendly nod.

Everything is a lot when it comes to relocating. The corridor is empty and mercifully dim, painted in dark colours with only small spotlights. Chanyeol checks the number on his keycard against the small brushed metal plate on the wall, then sets off to the left.

Chanyeol is first to the room, and as he realises this his shoulders sag in relief. But, the room. The stale smoke is raw in his throat within seconds. It clearly _is_ a double on account of there being two beds, but exactly how they fitted them into the space is a mystery. Maybe sliced one bed in half and pushed the halves against the walls. There’s a single window, a desk, tv and mini fridge. Chanyeol’s not sure there’s space to actually open the fridge.

The bathroom isn’t so much a separate room as an inserted unit, with a door that opens outwards and traps Chanyeol between the wall and alcove for a case and shoes. The floor, tub and sink are moulded in one big piece. Chanyeol steps up into the space. The plastic floor cracks disconcertingly under his feet as he turns. There’s only room to move on the spot, something claustrophobic about the orange lighting and his knees unavoidably knocking the base of the sink.

An experience. That’s what he’ll say when he texts his parents and mails Jongdae back at the office to update him. Jongdae can note that it’s not one worth repeating.

Chanyeol tugs at his tie and kneels on the end of the window side bed with one knee, planting his other foot on the floor for balance. He ducks under the thin net curtain and is grateful for the cool shock of the glass. Outside is an apartment block, some lights, a small cemetery behind a chain link fence. Not the most exciting of areas despite being so close to the shinkansen lines. Maybe he could see the station here if he just cranes enough..there’s the overpass, the-

The door latch clicks open and Chanyeol bumps his forehead on the thick glass in his scramble to get off the bed. He’s not the kind of roommate that doesn’t offer a side preference.

An _oh_ comes from the doorway. Chanyeol looks, and, “Oh. Kyungsoo,” he breathes. Kyungsoo is still holding the door open, a half-smile frozen on his face. He has thick, tufty hair now and looks..god, it’s Kyungsoo.

“Roommates at last.” He lifts the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder and ducks his upper half into the alcove to hang it. He’s more suited to the size of the room. Maybe a little broader than when Chanyeol last saw him.

Chanyeol swallows past the sore throb in his throat. “Only took..what, three years? Huh.”

“Right?” Kyungsoo emerges with a full smile. If Chanyeol’s good at one thing it’s smiling.

His knees bump the edge of the opposite bed, denting small creases in the satin and cotton pinstripe duvet. Probably not real satin. The stripes of silky-rough-silky texture are grating so Chanyeol keeps his hands in his lap. The room is so small it’s impossible to avoid intruding on Kyungsoo’s space.

Chanyeol scoots back until his shoulders touch the cold wall, folds his legs in. Kyungsoo had been watching global news while Chanyeol was in the bathroom because he knows more English than Japanese, but the programme switched at midnight and now it’s layers of language with a faltering live interpreter dubbed over three people debating. Chanyeol investigates the small shelf set into the headboard in place of a nightstand and feels embarrassed by the dust, as though Kyungsoo will blame him.

The fancy modern looking light panel fitted above the shelf becomes unstable once it’s dimmed. Not a flicker, just occasionally glowing brighter, like the gaps in a passing cloud. Chanyeol turns it off entirely so it won’t be a bother.

Chanyeol’s doesn’t sleep well in unfamiliar spaces, but flights tend to knock him out regardless of how short they are. He likes to listen to things on his phone (for hours sometimes; they distract him from being awake more than they put him to sleep), and he likes when his mother nags him to stay for the weekend and wakes him like he’s still a child. After he and Kyungsoo say their goodnights Chanyeol strains to hear sounds deep in the hotel, out on the street. He counts two planes passing overhead before he drifts.

×

This is what Chanyeol knows about Kyungsoo:

He is kind. The warmth never leaves his voice, whether he’s reading statistics or calling his mother or bashfully apologising. He grows dramatically each year, but not so much upwards. His wicked sense of humour doesn’t fit with either his sullen mask or gummy smile, but Chanyeol hears legend of it more than experiences it anyway. (He is kind. Chanyeol knows this fact keenly. He’s especially kind to Chanyeol.)

Their first shared conference was three years ago, nearly. Chanyeol wasn’t anyone’s hyung until he met Kyungsoo, and whenever Kyungsoo bothered to address him with it his neck prickled. Kyungsoo seemed the type that would like to be left alone, but he made the effort to tag along, so in return Chanyeol made the effort to go somewhere worth following. The hotel bar was made for guests twice their age, dim and every piece of soft furnishing cigarette burned. Smoking was only allowed outside these days. On their second night Kyungsoo filled a defunct heavy glass ashtray with peanuts, and when he told Chanyeol that he’s gay Chanyeol’s pretty sure he swallowed one whole.

Kyungsoo was so young and so scrawny in his cool grey suit, exhilarated to have told someone. He wasn’t out at home yet, he explained in a bashful fluster, and that was when Chanyeol realised his voice was perfect. Kyungsoo apologised and thanked Chanyeol and he didn’t know how to respond to that, so he nodded and filled his whole palm with peanuts and pressed them into his mouth. Kyungsoo hurriedly said something about being new to this, misreading the vibes he thought he’d been getting, he really was very sorry for having the wrong idea about Chanyeol but really is very grateful for his acceptance. Chanyeol chewed and chewed the salty mush until his tongue felt like it was ulcering and Kyungsoo got the message that this conversation wasn’t going to be about Chanyeol.

There is (or was, nearly three years ago) a boy. He wasn’t Kyungsoo’s boy, but he showed him what having a boy could be like. Chanyeol’s wondered ever since what it’s like to be had.

×

Outside the hotel there are three directions to head in. Towards the shinkansen terminals by foot, right and right again down the one street that opens up to the bypass and extends to the smaller local station, or left. Today Chanyeol investigates left.

It’s apartments, broken up by patches of local activity - a few bars, a craft store, a dentist. Grey paved streets lined with green. Most of it is weeds, but they’re leafy and bob in the wind, pretty in their own way. There are trees, too. Chanyeol passes two schools, so he’s sure there must be a park nearby. A park is what he’d been looking for; somewhere quiet he could eat lunch alone.

Chanyeol doesn’t know what the ideal size is, but it’s definitely not his. He takes up a lot of space, so when he wants to rid himself of claustrophobia he needs somewhere large, open. But open spaces make him nervous and want to crunch himself up like a paper ball. Chanyeol posts videos of himself playing guitar online, with his head sliced out of frame and the background exactly how he likes. It’s one of those conflicting things - low confidence, inflated ego. Clumsy motor skills, excellent hand-eye coordination. In real life he can’t conveniently show only the parts he’s good at.

Waking up with Kyungsoo hadn’t been as awkward a squeeze as expected. Their respective companies had agreed on time slots for the meeting room and Kyungsoo wasn’t using his extra 45 minutes on going down for breakfast. Kyungsoo stayed sitting in bed while Chanyeol carefully moved around the room. Chanyeol felt Kyungsoo only spent the entire time looking at his phone so he wasn’t looking at Chanyeol.

No park discovered, Chanyeol has his solo lunch date loitering around the side of the next Family Mart he comes to, so he can quickly throw the wrapper and bag away. For a moment he supposes this is what actually being a delinquent is like. He’d kind of wanted to be one in school, but he was too nervous to ever stand anywhere he’d been told not to, because he knew not to. He’d walked for so long after buying food that the ketchupy rice has turned dry and sticky while the omelette wrapped around it is sweaty. He throws that away too.

The walk back has a less interesting view. The bridge overhead carries cars and trains towards the station - the big station, a hub for the bullet trains and subway routes. A big bridge for a big station. It’s painted pale yellow and unavoidably cuts right across the landscape, so large it’s almost daunting to walk under.

He likes warmth. He likes where the sun hits things and bleaches them bright, the pressure of heat beating down. Hates being sweaty and _hates_ when his hair sticks in strings to his face, though. Chanyeol hates business conferences but loves Japan. Conflict after conflict.

The only personal item of Chanyeol’s that isn’t in his travel bag (or his travel bag itself) is a condensating water bottle still wrapped in the bag he brought it back in. His throat gets dry in their room, but he’d started playing a game on his phone and forgotten about it on the desk. Now Kyungsoo is back and it feels as though it takes up the entire room.

Kyungsoo is more interested in rustling through their jackets hanging by the door, disappearing shoulder deep to reach the shelf behind. “Do you smoke?”

Chanyeol pauses and looks up. Kyungsoo is holding a febreeze bottle and scowling at the small tab that triggers it from stop to start. “I don’t.”

“Good. I can complain about how fucking filthy it is.” Kyungsoo’s sleeves are rolled up his forearms. He tugged his shirt tails out of his waistband before the door had fully shut behind him, the bottom two buttons undone and a small triangle of his soft stomach peeking out. He sees Chanyeol still looking over and shakes the bottle. “Is it alright with you?”

The spray is far from neutral - that chemical scent that only comes from attempting to have no scent, so everyone knows that not only is your shirt not clean, you didn’t even try. Chanyeol is in the cubic bathroom rubbing dots of moisturiser into his forehead when he hears Kyungsoo going over the 10 steps of the room again. Spray spray spray spray. Chanyeol’s lips are still cracked and sore from the flight even after a day.

Trying to sleep with a fizzing burn in the back of his nose from the chemicals is even less pleasant than the stale smoke. Not that Chanyeol does sleep. He wants to say things to Kyungsoo other than _sorry, I’ll move first, what time’s your meeting, it’s hot again today_. It’s creepy to look over at Kyungsoo’s small form barely a foot away and try to make out if he’s asleep in the dark. Anything Chanyeol thinks of is overstepping in some way, really. Being around anyone is weird, but his usual patterns don’t apply to Kyungsoo.

For minutes longer Chanyeol runs through what he could do. He could cough. He could wake Kyungsoo on purpose. Turn his faulty lamp on and sit up and say _listen, about before_. But who’s to say Kyungsoo is even asleep? Chanyeol stares at the slit of city light below the curtain at the end of his bed until his eyes prickle.

These things happen. You room with someone, they hold their breath after lights out, masturbate when they think you’re asleep. Chanyeol would be able to hear the slightest movement from here - he can, every time Kyungsoo shifts. He’s just..not shifting in that kind of way. Maybe people don’t really do that. Maybe Chanyeol’s just watched too much porn. (Well, that’s too emotionally charged for mainstream porn - it’s the flowery 3 dollars and under lgbt books he downloads from amazon to practice his English.)

×

It would have been their six month anniversary, if they’d been in the kind of relationship that had anniversaries. They were just two faceless suits whose companies meet in the middle time to time. Japan is the middle. Fukuoka this time. In six months Kyungsoo had found his sensible adult hairstyle and switched his grey suit for navy. The first time they passed in a hallway he made a surprisingly loud sound in recognition, slapped Chanyeol’s hand.

“No boy yet?” Chanyeol asked the second and last time they crossed paths. He’d rehearsed it so many times it felt numb in his mouth.

“No boy,” Kyungsoo smiled, just a little quirk. “Let’s hang out next time, yeah?”

×

Special or odd. Chanyeol started special, became odd. He grew handsome enough to become quirky; odd but, you know, the type of odd girls find endearing and can they watch his band practice? Later he learned he could fool people into mistaking odd for interesting, and it’s exhausting but he’s popular enough. To his mother he’s still special. Pathologically he’s supposed to resent that, but he never has. It feels good when it comes from her. When he comes to visit she never has flowers in the house and turns the kitchen radio down two notches despite her hearing not being what it was. She makes him feel special, positive, not _special_, sympathetic.

×

They met twice in their second year of acquaintance. Kyungsoo filled out his suit better(? More. Maybe just, more) each time. Their specific jobs never came into contact, but on breaks they’d seek each other out. Kyungsoo quickly learned of Chanyeol’s interest in Japan. He touched Chanyeol’s thigh, just casually, leaning into him to hear him read the menu. He’d ask him what signs meant, tell him what he’d seen on tv the night before as though Chanyeol could decipher it with none of the dialogue.

Kyungsoo seemed safe and dangerous at once, one of those conflicts Chanyeol is so used to. Chanyeol, fuck knows why, explained to him what stimming was. He’s bad at the rowdy end of conference parties and was so stressed by how stressed he was that he ended up explaining. He wasn’t fiddling so much because he’s annoying, he just- Kyungsoo wouldn’t understand that when things are too noisy it helps if Chanyeol sets his own rhythm. Kyungsoo closed his hand around Chanyeol’s thigh and squeezed, like he was proud of him. “It’s good,” he smiled, “That you know what to do. It helps, that’s good.”

“It is,” Chanyeol laughed, relieved, and only then realised he hadn’t actually stopped. He’d been holding the small glass bottle from the central condiment tray for long enough he hoped no one would even know it had been there. The stuffiness of the room disappeared just enough in feeling the sharp click of the hinge and the small bite of the cap closing on the skin at the edge of his thumb. At times like that he really missed having a flip phone.

Kyungsoo’s thumb started to knead at Chanyeol’s outer thigh, a little like he was stimming too. Chanyeol didn’t understand why Kyungsoo stopped, when he hadn’t said _stop, don’t do that, I don’t like it_, but he left soon after.

Between that May and August there was a boy. They were sent to get microwave dinners for an overrun meeting and Kyungsoo mentioned it so briefly, when they’d stopped beside a low wall built in a square around a tree. They were organising how to best stack the hot, wilting beige bags, and as Kyungsoo added a fourth to Chanyeol’s pile he said, “You’ll be disappointed, it wasn’t the boy.”

“Oh.” The wet heat was burning Chanyeol’s fingers.

“That’s my update. There was one, but not _the_ one.” Kyungsoo smiled. That was good. That meant it hadn’t hurt. “Thanks for cheering for me all this time, anyway.”

Chanyeol turned his head so the smell of cooked food wasn’t directly under his nose. The hot steam and balmy night air were conflicting heats, too many textures on his skin. He wanted to yell. He tossed his head to flick damp hair out of his eyes. “Should I keep cheering for a boy in the future, or..?”

“I think I’ll be ok,” Kyungsoo was the right kind of warm, “But thank you.”

There were no touches at all in August, but summer is always challenging - Chanyeol was nearly vomiting after his three stop subway commutes. So that was probably for the best.

×

“Its Chinese, isn’t it? That restaurant down there.” Kyungsoo plants a knee on the edge of the bed and gently nudges Chanyeol aside to look out of the small strip of window. “The one that’s a knocked through house.”

“I think so.” Chanyeol had been staring down at the cemetery.

Kyungsoo hums, stands back upright, starts to knot his tie. “We could..wait, let me check my schedule.”

Even though he’s sparse with words Kyungsoo has a voice that fills Chanyeol up. In May when there had been touches, those did too. Kind of like the satisfaction of stimming or closing the loop in a rhythm. Chanyeol doesn’t know if he’s attracted to Kyungsoo or just really fucking weird about people when they get too close, the same way he is about what touches his skin and how extensively he can talk about the bands he loves. He just kind of gave up on that after his first relationship. He hadn’t been attracted to her, but there’s a pattern to being a teenager. No fifteen year old knows exactly what to do, but sometime after Chanyeol turned 22 and got a diagnosis the realisation hit him that most of them probably had a better idea than he did.

“You don’t like that kind of thing though, huh.”

“I like Chinese food.”

“People, I mean.” Kyungsoo straightens his collar and slips into his jacket, shrugs it onto his shoulders. He wears black now, and a plain tie with a neat little silver pin. No one else really wears those. He hasn’t called Chanyeol _hyung_ since the first week they spent together. “Noisy places. We don’t have to get lunch together.”

Chanyeol’s breath fogs the window. What do you say to that? Thanks for not bothering to invite me to something I’d reject. He’d love to go to lunch with Kyungsoo in theory.

“Tell me what you like, I’ll bring some back for you.”

Chanyeol would like to kiss Kyungsoo, in theory.

×

Seven months ago they shared a hotel in Yamagata. Six rooms to a floor, two doors apart. Kyungsoo’s head was shaved neat and close and he laughed when Chanyeol asked if he’d enlisted since they last met. He never complained about the cold but always wore a hat (while Chanyeol tried to refrain from mentioning how fucking freezing it was but never quite could). _It hasn’t even been a year since we last saw each other_, Kyungsoo told him, _at least I know you’ll always be here when we get sent to Japan. My little tour guide._

Kyungsoo was outside Chanyeol’s door with a small Lawsons bag held to his chest. He bought karaage as an advance apology for the trouble and was soaking in the warmth through the bag as he asked if Chanyeol had any ideas for their free morning. He didn’t mean that they had to go together.

“You weren’t wrong,” Chanyeol blurted, in the doorway in his sleep shirt and briefs. His knees were cold. Kyungsoo gestured for him to turn back into the room, and he did, and his nose was stinging like he’d been outside. When the door shut behind them both he continued, “I wasn’t brave the first time we met. I’m still not. Every time we meet I hope I will be.”

Kyungsoo placed the bag on the desk and dusted his front down. The smell of oily chicken quickly filled the room and turned Chanyeol’s stomach.

“I think about meeting you again and telling you that I am.”

Closer, Kyungsoo had the scent of a cold night on his clothes. He held Chanyeol by his forearms, stroked across the raised vein at his inner wrist with his thumb. “Telling me that you’re brave?” A squeeze. Pressure. Chanyeol loves pressure. “Telling me that you’re gay?”

“I said I’m still not,” Chanyeol’s throat ached with tears, “Brave. I’m not, I’m still not,” and they slipped hot down his face.

Nothing too much, nothing too fast, Kyungsoo warned him. Nothing scary. He doesn’t say that Chanyeol is special, odd, interesting, he just says Chanyeol can take all the time he needs. For half the night they lay with the lamps dimmed, their hands touching but not held. When Chanyeol was ready Kyungsoo let him be clumsy with no reprimand. Really Chanyeol would never be _ready_ for some things, but his want could expand his boundaries. Being simultaneously touch starved and painfully sensitive, physically and emotionally, to even the slightest contact is his least favourite conflict.

There’s clumsiness due to inexperience and there’s clumsiness because you’re on uneven footing, swaying precariously, desperate not to fall. Chanyeol was both. His own body is so much to cope with, how should he approach someone else’s? Their legs tangled, and Chanyeol shuddered when Kyungsoo’s mouth brushed his ear. He asked where Chanyeol liked to be touched and his laughter filled the space that Chanyeol’s heart left behind when it leapt to his throat.

“You don’t know much, do you,” Kyungsoo teased, “So I think you should just stick to what you do know.”

He warned Chanyeol not to be loud and covered his mouth, voice still kind and completing even with that dark edge to it. Chanyeol whimpered and pushed up into his own squeezing fist, panting into Kyungsoo’s palm and dizzy from the wet heat of his own breath. Chanyeol never imagined someone else touching him could feel better than his own well practiced methods, and Kyungsoo wasn’t even touching anywhere that really counts, but-

He didn’t come. What built up and broke out first was a sob, and like it was nothing, everything stopped. Kyungsoo shushed him, and soon they fell asleep, and the next day as always they parted without exchanging contact information.

He’s come to the memory since. He visualises Kyungsoo’s hands sometimes, his voice. When he reads his cheap queer books he imagines the silhouette of Kyungsoo’s body, convincing himself it isn’t wrong, convincing himself they’ll never meet again.

×

Kyungsoo asks Chanyeol if he can read a map. Tomorrow there’s two hours free between the conference officially ending and the official conference ending party, so he wants to travel out a little way. He hasn’t asked Chanyeol to come with him.

They sit facing each other, Kyungsoo cross legged and Chanyeol with his back to the wall, balancing the map on his knees. He’d just finished in the shower when Kyungsoo got back to the room. It’s a pamphlet from the lobby and the thin shiny paper keeps sticking to Chanyeol’s slightly damp skin.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering,” Kyungsoo says.

Chanyeol follows the line of a river into the centre of the map. “Yeah?”

“I can’t be the only gay man you know.”

Chanyeol can curl in tight but still feel like the largest thing in the room. He takes his time folding the map, going the wrong way and shaking it open and trying again until it’s neat. He passes it across to Kyungsoo and says, “You’re the only gay man who’s explicitly told me that he’s gay. You’re- yeah. You’re the only one.” He straightens up on the edge of the bed, the backs of his knees pressed into the silky-rough-silky to ensure he doesn’t encroach on Kyungsoo’s space. “It’s 2019- that’s what they say online. And you’re the only gay man I know.”

Kyungsoo looks at him neutrally. If you didn’t know him you’d think he looked annoyed, but Chanyeol only feels uncomfortable because he’s himself.

“Which is-” Chanyeol wishes he was still holding the map so he could fold and refold it. He obsesses over things. It’s very unclear from his books whether thinking of a passing acquaintance for three years is acceptable or not. “I’ve never wanted to make you uncomfortable or be weird about it or reduce your company down to-”

Kyungsoo leans forward, a firm touch to Chanyeol’s knee. “You’re saying this now,” he frowns, “What do you think Yamagata was?”

Chanyeol blinks his big eyes. “Pity,” he answers honestly.

For a second Kyungsoo looks as though he’s not sure how to hold himself either. It’s like he has to look at Chanyeol to be sure again, and with another squeeze he says, “You’re not the only neurodiverse person in the world. Chanyeol, you..”

He’s always known Kyungsoo is kind. He used the kind word. He _knows_ it. Chanyeol relaxes in the sudden realisation he has the potential to be the good kind of special.

“It wasn’t _pity_, it- Is it pitiful to let you feel safe?”

“I didn’t realise that you..” Chanyeol twists his fingers in his lap, thumbing over the rough skin around the edge of a nail. “I’ve never been good at this, however many times we meet.”

Kyungsoo withdraws back over the small dividing space in between the beds. If he has any stories about a family friend’s special needs kid or a documentary he watched one time he doesn’t put them forward as credentials. He says, “You only have to tell me what you need and what you don’t.”

It’s not the worst thing in the world, to have someone be attracted to you. Chanyeol thinks the worst thing is catching onto just how plausible it’s always been three years late. “What if I need to apologise for needing to do that?”

Kyungsoo swings his feet over the edge of the bed. “If that helps.” It’s sticky hot even with the large a/c unit on. His underwear has ridden up his thick thighs, and the freedom to look is inflating a big bubble of excitement in Chanyeol’s chest. “I’ve hoped for your sake that whenever we’ve crossed paths you might be more comfortable. It’s not easy. Even if it is 2019.”

“I’ve only known neurodiverse is even a word since 2016,” Chanyeol laughs, dropping his head down. At the same time Kyungsoo was that scrawny teenager chasing after his first boy, Chanyeol was only just learning how to be a Chanyeol. “Everything sensory is a-” _fucking_ “-nightmare.” There are still lines he knows not to cross. Kyungsoo doesn’t care about the same lines his mother drew when he was a child, but Chanyeol avoids tripping on them regardless of company. “But I never stop wanting to know what it feels like.”

“What would you like to know?” Kyungsoo’s still giving him that neutral look. Chanyeol had always imagined having this conversation with anyone would be alarming, let alone someone who’s eager enough to touch him that they’re..ok with not touching him at all. Kyungsoo’s known all this time. Cared all this time. Huh.

“Just.._it_,” Chanyeol provides with a non-descript hand gesture that has Kyungsoo raising his brows. He feels his ears and nose and neck rapidly flush and prickle with heat. He knows the theory better than the first time, but not so much the practice.

Before Chanyeol can let embarrassment change his mind, Kyungsoo nods, like he made any sense. “Have you done this before?” Kyungsoo asks, neatly sidling himself across the space between beds. His left thigh presses into Chanyeol’s right, and with cautious confidence Chanyeol splays his hand across it. “Any of this, I mean,” Kyungsoo confirms. His palm barely covers the back of Chanyeol’s hand placed across it sideways.

“I want to. I know what I want.” Considering Chanyeol has zero idea what he wants in literal terms, and that Kyungsoo is neutral-bored again, it’s probably best to take questions as leading, not a test. He shakes his head. “Once, before Yamagata. A girl. I got as far as finding out tongues touching is disgusting, but- oh.” He darts his eyes away, from Kyungsoo’s face and then their connected hands, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t criticising-”

“Each to their own,” Kyungsoo says softly, “You said sensory things are difficult? It would help me to know what kind.”

_It_ by a process of elimination. Between Kyungsoo’s thigh and hand Chanyeol’s palm is getting clammy. He’s aware of it, but he doesn’t want to yell. He’s wanted Kyungsoo for as long as he’s known it’s ok that he struggles to conceptualise wanting anyone.

“Do you need to be guided?” Kyungsoo chins at Chanyeol’s shoulder, “Don’t want you worrying. Or to be overbearing.” He kisses the bump where collarbone connects to shoulder with his lips pursed. “Just tell me how it works.”

Chanyeol’s stomach flipped at the suggestion, imagining how that would be. He’d love to be told exactly what to do and do it well, in theory and in practice, but maybe not right now. “I find autonomy and sex very confusing. That’s- not the kind of thing you’re supposed to say, I know, but.” Chanyeol knows not to say things, but they just slip out of their own accord when he’s stressed or excited or potentially going to lose some semblance of virginity to a man who sees him exactly as he is.

“Autonomy,” Kyungsoo repeats, amused, and lightly runs his nails across Chanyeol’s knuckles, “Keep going. You’re doing good.” He frowns ever so slightly, “Do you like being good?”

Is it ok to speak to him like that, Kyungsoo means, and it’s such a non-issue that Chanyeol doesn’t answer beyond an enthusiastic nod. “I don’t know how involved I want to be. I like pressure. I hate wet things, but I’m starting to think I’d hate it less than under normal circumstances. And, um.” It’s hard to say, not knowing what to expect in the first place. He wants it to be like his books; everything vague and tender, unspoken but known, in sync. Floating and tingling and fluttering and whatever else.

Kyungsoo chuckles at that. “I can’t guarantee it’ll be like a romance novel, but I’ll do my best.”

Nothing too much, nothing too fast. Nothing scary. Pressure, Chanyeol confirms, and Kyungsoo kisses far away from his mouth and guides Chanyeol onto his stomach.

It sort of is like Chanyeol’s books, in how non-descript it is. There are bases and acts but this is just the two of them partly-clothed, Kyungsoo weighing him down with his soft, heavy body. Kyungsoo moves against him, pressing into him and pressing him into the sheets. Kyungsoo’s soft sounds of exertion and the intent of their movements fills Chanyeol up until he’s floating.

It tethers him again to the hot sweaty rough sheets when Kyungsoo breathes heavily beside his ear. “Chanyeol, we’re moving.” The raw hint to his voice sparks something a little like pride in Chanyeol, despite him partaking very little. His inner thighs ache from pushing himself up to give Kyungsoo something to rock against; he helped. “Onto your side, ok? That’s it, under my arm-” Kyungsoo cradles the back of his head, thumb stroking the soft skin behind his ear. “Watch, Chanyeollie.”

Obediently Chanyeol watches, forehead pressed to Kyungsoo’s and face burning as he pushes his boxers down, starts stroking himself for Chanyeol to see.

“Not too much?”

“No.”

“Good,” Kyungsoo nudges Chanyeol’s warm cheek with his nose, “Do you want to do it too?”

“Not yet. Tonight. No.” Chanyeol’s head is all stuffed up with fluff right now, so finding anything to say, let alone the right kinds of things that you’re supposed to say in situations like this isn’t coming easy. “Just you is- nice, thank you.” Maybe another time he can tell Kyungsoo how often he’s not-exactly thought about them not-exactly doing anything too descriptive. For now Kyungsoo laughs softly, nuzzling at Chanyeol’s jaw. It’s funny to be thanked, apparently. Chanyeol’s flushed from his head to his toes with happiness.

When Chanyeol lifts his hand Kyungsoo preemptively slows his pace. Chanyeol wraps his fingers around Kyungsoo’s, Kyungsoo’s raised knuckles hard in his palm, and for three strokes they move together.

“I like you so much,” Kyungsoo says as Chanyeol squirms to curl in tight at his side again, hands folded in. He gives Chanyeol a smile sillier than Chanyeol knew he could. “I’m glad you like me too.”

“I never said that,” Chanyeol pouts. He does, of course, he very much likes Kyungsoo, and to be liked in return would be more overwhelming if he wasn’t half numb from processing all of this. He just hasn’t said it himself, and an assumption doesn’t count. Kyungsoo’s _always_ wanted him. When he was new to this, misreading the vibes, sorry for having the wrong idea. “I like you so much, too.” He relaxes even further, slipping down to rest his head on Kyungsoo’s shoulder, bury in at his neck. “I like this.”

Kyungsoo hums. “I liked Yamagata, too, just so you know. The nice parts- liked seeing you like that.” Kyungsoo suddenly seems warmer all over, a damp heat building in the spaces their bodies are touching. “Still ok?” His hand is moving faster, his hips kicking a little now and then. Chanyeol makes a sound in agreement, and Kyungsoo’s hand tightens in Chanyeol’s hair as his orgasm creeps in.

It’s nothing pornographic, really. A long, punctuated groan, three thick spurts over the soft round of Kyungsoo’s belly. He closes his eyes and gently bumps his head against Chanyeol’s. “Ok?” he checks, laughs softly at how enthusiastically Chanyeol nods. “Ok, good.”

For a few moments Chanyeol starts to drift along with Kyungsoo, hazily replaying their night in the comfort of knowing it was nice. But without distraction Chanyeol quickly realises they don’t fit together at all in this small bed. He’d love to fall asleep in Kyungsoo’s arms, but it’s also hot as hell and they’re both sweaty, sticky. Unfortunately liking someone so much doesn’t override that.

Kyungsoo solves the problem himself when he suddenly grumbles into Chanyeol’s hair. “Can’t sleep yet,” he groans, then immediately goes limp again. A moment later he inhales sharply through his nose and rolls over, stretching his arms out. “Shower. Shower, then sleep.”

Chanyeol follows him up, sitting on the edge of the bed and making a minimal effort to tug the rumpled sheets back out straight. The soreness in his throat from the smoke saturated furnishings throbs more than usual, and when he realises it’s because he’s had his mouth open gasping for the past twenty minutes he wriggles back down into the bed. Embarrassed and happy, the rush of it going straight to his..feet. He’s peddling.

“Mind if I go first?” Kyungsoo asks, looking down at himself and not at Chanyeol rubbing dents into the mattress with his heels. He’s just being considerate, because obviously he should go first. Chanyeol appreciates the gesture, even if either way it means Kyungsoo will leave this moment and the little mess they created together will be gone.

“I would offer to help..” He knows how to do this part. Wet washcloth, classic scene in every book. Actually he’d hate it, the wet skin and wet fabric. Maybe he just wants to touch Kyungsoo’s belly. Now he knows it’s all his to touch and the world won’t end the possibilities are (sort of) endless.

Kyungsoo nods like his head is so heavy all it can do is rock back and forth. “Yeah. I think if we went in there at the same time we’d get stuck.” He disappears around to where the alcove is and then comes the sound of him opening his travel bag. “Want to skip out on the party tomorrow?” he calls.

Chanyeol pauses in his happy wriggling. “Yeah?” He winces at his own uncertainty. To do more of this? To go somewhere together? Did everything just change too fast? That’s how it usually goes - you take one step and are expected to break into a run.

Kyungsoo steps back into the room so he can pull the bathroom door outwards. The view of his back is so nice. He turns to shoot a gummy smile over his shoulder and Chanyeol plants into the pillow, embarrassed by the spike of happiness. The warmth in Kyungsoo’s voice is light and lilting, “Just us two in the hotel bar.”

Oh. “Yeah,” Chanyeol wrestles the pillow into his arms, squeezing it tight. “Yeah, lets do that.”

It’s Kyungsoo’s team using the conference room first today. Chanyeol pretends he’s still sleeping, trying to look cute, or something, or maybe just to avoid the possibility of verbalising any of the thoughts that raced through his mind last night. But Kyungsoo wiggles into his dress pants for show, and Chanyeol’s giggle into the duvet pulled around his face isn’t all that quiet.

“I’ll see you tonight, Chanyeol.” Kyungsoo plants both hands beside him, then lifts one to pull and prod at the covers until he can get a peek of Chanyeol hiding in them. “Chanyeollie, you still like me today, right?” It’s teasing, but Chanyeol still bursts out of hiding pretty fast to reassure Kyungsoo that yes, yes, yes he likes him, he likes him so much, he,

relaxes into the perfect warmth of Kyungsoo’s lips to his forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> \- obviously they exchange info this time and live conveniently close  
\- ksoo doesn’t have a yt acc so yeol texts him links and info dumps on new covers he uploads (ksoo buys a band shirt to wear as a sleep shirt and bOY does yeol go wild)  
\- ksoo introduces cy to his queer friends so he can have a wider queer social group even if they mainly interact by text!  
\- mama park loves ksoo so much cy sticks his headphones in for some peace whenever they visit together
> 
> thank you for reading ! ☀ I am on [twt](https://twitter.com/taonsil) ❀ [cc](https://curiouscat.me/suyeols) 24/7 crying about suyeol and queer things, often simultaneously. feel free to congratulate me on finally writing chansoo after ~5 years of empty promises <‘: 


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